


As Angels Weep, Burst Forth

by e_p_hart



Category: Christian Bible (Old Testament)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:21:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_p_hart/pseuds/e_p_hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything-- everything is God’s.</p>
<p>And God does seem to delight in reminding me of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Angels Weep, Burst Forth

I cannot watch this madness any longer.  
  
I throw myself from the great heights to alight in the desert. Golden sand, golden sun, golden sky; the rocks are black and harsh and sudden.  
  
There they are, and I am just in time.  
  
The boy is terrified, the whites of his eyes showing all around; he strains at the ropes that bind him to the rock.  
  
His father is terrified too: his hands shake as he raises the knife, breath stuttering in and out from a clenched throat, and he mutters to himself, trying to convince himself of his duty.  
  
“Stop!” I cry aloud. “Abraham, Abraham!”  
  
He stumbles back, nearly sobbing with relief. “Here I am!”  
  
“Do not lay your hand upon your son, Abraham; do not do anything to him!”  
  
The knife drops heavily onto the sand.  
  
I continue, lying, “Now I know that you are a God-fearing man, as you have not withheld your son, your only son, from God.”  
  
Abraham becomes distracted, and I turn to look: a ram is stuck in some bushes.  
  
‘Yes,’ I think; ‘sacrifice that instead of your son.’  
  
I do not have to look to see the others coming to get me. I watch and wait while Abraham unties his son and begins to sacrifice the ram; and then their hands close upon my arms, and I am towed away.

* * *

  
  
*You have disobeyed me.*  
  
The voice is terrible, and cuts my very being. I fall to my knees, not out of supplication, but out of weakness: I cannot stand to the great weight of the power that opposes me.  
  
“Please,” I whisper. “It was out of love--”  
  
*You do not know My plans.*  
  
Tortuous pressure, unbearable empathy, disappointment with me, in me, with the whole of Creation.

“I--” I cannot lie, not here. “I am not sorry.”  
  
*I know.* Sigh, subtle release. I sag towards the ground. *I am angry.*  
  
“You have every right to be.”  
  
*I had a plan. It was not right for you to question Me, My authority.*  
  
“He-- his son! This test-- surely it was too much. Unreasonable--”  
  
Blast of heat and light, and I close my eyes against it and wait for an eternity of seconds.  
  
*Leave. Now.*  
  
I struggle to my feet and hurry away, before any further retribution can occur.

* * *

   
  
In this corner of the earth, I can imagine peace. It is all around me:  
  
The sun never sets: there is no need for it, as one would never grow tired here. The grass is green and perfect. The trees sway in a gentle early-summer breeze, which carries a lush scent of water and fruit and flowers. A small stream trickles merrily by my feet, clear and delicious, never stagnant. The sky is a full blue, ripe and cloudless.  
  
We have no such beauty in Heaven. Sterility; God poured all of love into this world. And then...  
  
I kick my foot angrily. Why would God love the world so much, and then order such terrible deeds?  
  
For the longest time I had trusted that there was a plan; and then...  
  
I watched while Abraham tied up his son.  
  
And God did nothing.  
  
“Now you see what I have to deal with.”  
  
“Go away,” I say, without bothering to turn: I know who it is.  
  
“Now, now, there’s no need to be so feisty.” Mastema smiles as he sits beside me on the hillock. “You brought this upon yourself, you know.”  
  
“I?”  
  
“Yes, you. Had you trusted in God more--”  
  
“I am how I was made, as are you,” I snarl. “I am a Watcher, a Protector! How could I stand by and watch God engineer a murder? One of God’s own people!”  
  
“Oh, yes,” Mastema says mockingly; “how could you?”  
  
I begin to say something, but can come up with no curse terrible enough. At last I say, “And it was your plan all along, I suppose. You wanted me despised.”  
  
“Of course” comes the reply.  
  
“As I thought,” I say, and stand. “From your lips to God’s ears,” I say, and take flight.  
  
It is obvious I will find no peace on Earth, not even in Eden.

* * *

  
  
*I have decided.*  
  
“What is Your will, my Lord?”  
  
*You will become My Angel of Death.*  
  
“No! My God, please, I ask You--”  
  
*You will obey Me!*  
  
And--  
  
I was made to be conscious, to make decisions, but moreso to follow God.  
  
I have no choice.  
  
I bow my head. “Yes, my Lord.”  
  
*You will obey Me in all things.*  
  
“Yes, my Lord.”  
  
*So it is, and shall be.*

* * *

  
  
And so it is.  
  
Behold, my terrible sword, my eyes of flame, my breath which is courage-shattering, my hand which can crush thoughts and lives with so little effort--  
  
I follow God’s orders. I must. However...  
  
“Well, well... this is unexpected.”  
  
“Was this part of your plan, too?”  
  
Mastema circles me, grinning. “Of course not,” he says. “But am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?”  
  
I look away, ashamed. “None of the angels will help me,” I mutter.  
  
“No,” he agrees. “That is lamentable indeed.”  
  
“Silence your tongue,” I snap. “You know exactly why I am here.”  
  
“I do. But I am ignorant of why you think I will help you. I cannot betray my nature, you know. I must oppose God; that is how I was made. I am perhaps a little more free than you in my methods, but the end result is always the same.”  
  
“How lucky for you that that is precisely what I want.”  
  
He looks at me, silent for a long moment.  
  
“You knew that too,” I say.  
  
He nods, slowly. “I did. I wanted to hear you say it.” His expression turns wistful. “We are all puppets, you know.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“This is in the plan.”  
  
“I,” I say, “am not so sure.”

  
  
When Jacob steals his brother’s birthwright, Isaac’s blessing, I am there to carry out God’s orders. I whisper in Esau’s ear to incite his anger even farther; Mastema is there beside me, inviting Rebecca to save her son; it is I who wrestle with Jacob on the banks of the river, and who have the last laugh when I do not let Jacob and Mastema overpower me: I bestow a new name on him, one that will place him on an equal with his Maker.  
  
I am reprimanded, but not stripped of my duties.  
  
I wonder...  
  
Mastema lays up the caravan for days in a sandstorm, and allows them to leave in time to pass by nine angry brothers, and one thoughtful one, and one who is supposed to die. Joseph goes into slavery. I pour lewd toughts into the wife of Joseph’s owner, while Mastema arranges matters in the palace. The whole affair plays out quite nicely, but I have no time to enjoy it: the famine leaves me with much work to do. Mastema vists me occasionally and regails me with wild tales of cups and false accusations and many journeys; I do appreciate that.  
  
God seems...angry, but unsurprised.  
  
I wonder...  
  
I wonder why.  
  
(I still do not believe God knows where we are heading. I do not believe that at all.)

* * *

   
  
“What are you doing, Angel?”  
  
I glance up from my scroll. “Reading.”  
  
Satan’s face is red and thundery. “You are messing up my plans! And I find one of my own, Mastema, spending more and more time doing his own whims, not mine! What-- you are the cause of this, I know it!”  
  
I smile. This causes Satan to pick me up by the scruff of my neck and shake me. My head whirls. I gasp out, “I can explain! Let me explain!”  
  
He drops me to the ground. “Please, do.”  
  
I look around. “Not here,” I say, and take flight. We fly to a deep underground cave.  
  
“Why all the secrecy?”  
  
“I suppose it doesn’t really matter,” I say, dropping to perch on a boulder. “God knows anyway.”  
  
“What? What does God know?”  
  
“God knows everything,” I whisper.  
  
Satan scoffs. “God cannot see us here. Speak freely, Angel.”  
  
“I disagreed with God’s plan, once: I saved one of God’s creatures from murder. For punishment, God made me Angel over Death.” I shudder. “I am the Angel of Death.”  
  
“Why--”  
  
“I am getting there, Satan! Please.”  
  
He makes a grand gesture, as though to say, do continue.  
  
“I do not like this task,” I say, “killing humans, causing havoc. So I asked Mastema, one of your devils, to help me. Whenever God wishes me to take a human life, Mastema twists the situation. So although humans live, he is doing the opposite of God’s will.”  
  
Satan is staring at me like he does not quite understand my words.  
  
“But,” I continue, “I fear I am still falling into God’s plan...”  
  
“God’s plan,” Satan jeers. “What plan do you speak of? God is a child playing with toys, making up the story as it progresses, surely!”  
  
I look away. “I know that,” I say hesitantly, “but it is one thing to know something, and quite another to believe it.”  
  
“Hmm,” Satan hums doubtfully. “Well, I cannot say I fault your efforts--” and here he pokes a finger into my chest-- “but leave my demons out of it.”  
  
“I cannot promise a thing.”  
  
“Mastema is mine!” he snarls. “I can make your existence very difficult--” He breaks off. “Why are you laughing?”  
  
“I am laughing,” I manage to get out, “because you are funny.”  
  
He growls and shoves me against the wall of stone. When my vision clears, he is gone.

* * *

  
  
Mastema finds me when I venture aboveground once more, arms crossed, looking faintly annoyed but mostly amused. “Nice conversation?” he says.  
  
“Not particularly,” I say.  
  
“I also had a not particularly nice conversation with several of your kind. I’ll never be able to get the awful stench of heaven out of my hair.”  
  
I ignore the jab. “Who?”  
  
“Michael,” he says, “and Anaphiel, and Lauriel...” He spreads his hands wide, shrugs. “They tried to rough me up, and warned me to stop messing with God’s plans.”  
  
“I am sorry,” I say.  
  
“Think nothing of it,” Mastema says. “I was due for a visit in any event.”  
  
“Do they visit demons perennially?”  
  
“They do. You never...?”  
  
“Not in my job description,” I mutter.  
  
“In any case, Satan is not happy with you either.”  
  
“Tell me something I don’t know.”  
  
Mastema laughs. “I think we are doing splendidly,” he says. He claps me on the shoulder.  
  
“Are we?” I say, watching him sink into the earth.

* * *

  
  
I grow to hate Heaven more and more as time passes; but the Earth is no comfort to me either: knowledge that God made it for creatures God reguards as dispensable...colours the landscape somewhat.  
  
There is no place for me to go.  
  
Everything-- everything is God’s.  
  
And God does seem to delight in reminding me of this.

* * *

  
  
“You never had any issue with God’s orders before,” Kakabel says to me, dropping down out of the sky lightly. “Why now?”  
  
“Why not, Kakabel? After the Flood, after everything that has gone before and will come after, after--”  
  
“God has a plan,” my friend says with complete assurance.  
  
“You sicken me,” I say. “We Angels were created to protect humans, to love them, and God--”  
  
“We were also created to serve God. I think you have forgotten that. We all know what you are up to, what you think you are getting away with. It is all in God’s plan, of course, even your supposed rebellions; but your attitude is starting to rub some of us the wrong way. I’m here to warn you, to try to talk some sense into you.” Kakabel stares at me, eyes wide, hopeful. “But I see that I will not get anywhere. If God couldn’t convince you, I certainly can’t.” Kakabel sighs. “I don’t know why I even bothered.”  
  
“Wait, Kakabel--”  
  
But it is too late.  
  
Kakabel vanishes.  
  
I fall to my knees, overcome with anger and sadness. I feel a touch on my shoulder.  
  
“Go away, Mastema,” I say. “You have nothing to say to me.”  
  
He is silent for a long moment. Then, he says, “I’m a demon. I don’t know a thing about doing good deeds, and I couldn’t perform them if I tried, more than likely. But-- I do know about doing things according to your own rules, your own beliefs, how you see things.”  
  
“This isn’t--”  
  
“Be silent,” he says sharply. “I am trying to compliment you, and it is hard enough without you interupting.”  
  
I shut my mouth.  
  
“In that light,” he continues, “I think you are doing a fine job.” He squeezes my shoulder before letting go. “Now, stop moaning and get up. If you have something to prove, do it. Prove that God isn’t ineffable, doesn’t have a plan, that God is merely tinkering with toys. Get up!”  
  
I do.

* * *

  
  
This trembling man before me--  
  
He will avenge his people, forced into slavery for all these years.  
  
“Moses,” I say. “You will lead your people out of Egypt, into the land I gave to your forefathers.”  
  
Yes, this will do.

* * *

  
  
*What have you done!*  
  
“Only what You would not, my Lord,” I say. “I have begun to get Your chosen out of bondage. Does this not please You?”  
  
Ah, the rage is terrible, the force of it nearly undoes me. Then:  
  
*Very well. I see what you have begun. It is not how I would have done it, but it will do.*  
  
In an instant, I see God’s plans, laid down like a pattern before me.  
  
“No! Oh, no! God, please do not force me to slaughter Your creation--”  
  
*SILENCE! You will do as I have commanded!*  
  
And...I have no choice.  
  
I leave God’s presence, wounded to my core. “Mastema!” I cry. “Mastema!” He appears before me. “I am commanded-- unspeakable horrors! We must act quickly!” I tell him my idea; he grins at me; we depart to perform our duties.

* * *

  
  
It is night. It is the Night. As darkness falls, I ready my sword. I will not be able to save all of the humans, but some of them will survive.  
  
I pass over the city. Everywhere there is blood over the mantle, I do not enter; the houses barren of blood--  
  
I have been commanded.  
  
God’s chosen have all done as Mastema had said to; at least they will be spared. Some of the Egyptians, too, have painted their doors with blood. The rest--  
  
I weep as I fly, knowing this can only bring more death, more despair.

* * *

  
  
We hover among the clouds, watching with joy as God’s people leave their slavery behind. Angels all around me jostle me with their wings, hit me on the back, the shoulder, saying: “And you thought things would go wrong. See this? They are safe now!”  
  
I shake my head. I wish I could join in their jubilation.  
  
Some Angel calls in alarm, pointing off into the distance. “Hark! hark! the Egyptians ride! See how the ride!”  
  
*That is no matter,* God intones from above. *My people are surely safe.*  
  
A murmur rises among the Angels. “But, Lord,” one says, “the Egyptians have chariots, horses, while Your Chosen are burdened with elderly, with young, and cannot--”  
  
*They are safe.*  
  
Anger builds in me. I knew it. I knew this could only lead to more death, more loss. God doesn’t care. God does not care.  
  
“God,” the Captain of the Angels says, “we must stop the Egyptians; see, they are nearly gained upon Your People!”  
  
God sighs. And does nothing.  
  
“The Sea,” I say. The Angels all snap their attention to me. I swallow under the weight. “If the Hebrews can reach the other side of the Sea, there, they can be safe.”  
  
*You disobey me?* God says.  
  
“I do not disobey, Lord, but merely act.”  
  
*And if I command otherwise?*  
  
“Then, yes; I will disobey.”  
  
The Angels whisper to each other.  
  
God says nothing more.  
  
“I need your help!” I shout to the Angels. “We need to get the Hebrews across the Sea!”  
  
“How do you plan on doing that?”  
  
I think, quickly. “If the army will stall the Egyptians, the rest of us can create a path, a path through the water!”  
  
“That’s crazy!”  
  
“Why don’t we just carry them across?”  
  
“If--”  
  
“Listen to me!” I raise my arms, cutting off the discussion. “We do not have time to argue! We could pick them up-- but do we want to teach them reliance on us? Let them escape on their own power, with merely some small help from us. Let’s go!” I drop from the clouds, not bothering to wait for the others, for their hesitation. I reach Moses, at the head of the group, and lean to whisper in his ear. Then I speed out to the Sea, and wait, lingering just above the waves. The other Angels are slowly following my example: a great cloud of dust and fire is forming between the Egyptians and the Hebrews, while the rest remain with me, hovering over the water. Soon enough, Moses reaches the edge of the Sea and stretches his arms outward.  
  
Holding the water back is difficult, but we manage to allow all the Hebrews to pass through.  
  
“What should we do about the Egyptians?”  
  
They are starting to follow the Hebrews through the path in the water. Before I can reply, a shockwave of wind and energy jerks our grips loose of the waves, and the Egyptians’ faces pale, and then the water crashes over them, and the water crushes them, and their souls rise up.  
  
I fall to my knees on the shoreline, and weep.  
  
It is never enough.  
  
The Hebrews are celebrating the defeat of their enemies.  
  
Somewhere, I know, God is smiling. A rainbow appears through the clouds.  
  
I turn away, disgusted.

* * *

  
  
*What should I do with you?*  
  
On the ground, head bowed, eyes closed. Should I answer? God knows my heart well enough. I should not have to say a word.  
  
*Should I give you what you want?*  
  
“That is Your decision, my lord,” I say. I glance up, eyebrows quirking. “But You know that already.”  
  
*Be silent.*  
  
Silence. Quiet. Peace?  
  
*Punishment, My Angel.*  
  
“I would expect no less.”  
  
*I must be free to carry out My plans.*  
  
It’s a trap. I say nothing.  
  
*I know best.*  
  
Say nothing.  
  
*You will obey Me!*  
  
Say nothing.  
  
*That is My decision.*  
  
“As You wish, My God.”  
  
Silence.  
  
Silence.  
  
Punishment.  
  
No peace.

* * *

  
  
Mastema finds me, of course. He surveys me, grinning. And then leaves. Why should he stay?  
  
No peace.  
  
Humans. I love them.  
  
Does it matter?  
  
Does it matter?  
  
Does it--

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm. Hate the ending. But I've been working on this for forever and ever, and just wanted it to be over. Don't ask me what it means; I've got no idea.
> 
> Title from "Paradise Lost" Book 1: "Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth."


End file.
